


A Decisive Breach of Professional Conduct

by RevocablePeril (Harushira_kun)



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, M/M/M, Multi, Other, Polyamory, Rating May Change, Writer AU, will add characters as they appear
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-10
Updated: 2018-09-10
Packaged: 2019-07-10 13:26:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15950279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Harushira_kun/pseuds/RevocablePeril
Summary: Keith is a senior editor at the Voltron Publishing Company on a streak of "writers who hate his guts and want a new editor". Until Shiro, his boss, gives him the dream job of editing for his favourite author of all time, Lance McClain. You all know how the story goes.





	A Decisive Breach of Professional Conduct

Keith is _not_ jealous of the new girl. 

This is what he's trying to explain to Shiro, sitting across the table from him at their usual bar with their usual bottles of whatever on a Friday night. Shiro can only nod uncomfortably as Keith tells him that yes, Allura's a great editor, and she definitely deserves the executive position cause she’s smart, professional, and already has quite the list of Times bestsellers under her belt so of _course_ she would get executive editor right off the bat, even though they just brought her in from Voltron Co.’s London branch and Keith has been a senior editor at VC New York for a few years now and Shiro _knows_ how much he wanted executive and anyway - anyway - yes. Okay. 

He is jealous, God, of course he is. How could he not be? Didn’t he deserve this too? 

Or, wait, this doesn't have to do with the fact that no less than five of the last dozen writers he’s worked with have dropped him before he even got a chapter into the manuscript? Is it? Maybe he’s not working hard enough to keep them?

"No," Shiro says decisively. He slams his drink back on the table a little too forcefully, which effectively shuts Keith up. "You work yourself into the ground most days. Your ethic isn’t an issue. You’ve just had bad luck with the clients. And, well, you might need to be a bit less snappy with them. Not every author can handle that much criticism off the bat. Just remember, patience--" 

"Yields focus," Keith finishes, rolling his eyes. "I know." Shiro had a giant banner made with that damn line, and it hangs proudly on the wall of his office right above his editor-in-chief certificate. “I try, Shiro.”

Shiro’s look softens. “You do. You wouldn’t be here otherwise.”

"I only have one client right now," Keith says glumly to his glass. “And his manuscript isn’t anything special.”

“It has potential,” Shiro counters. 

“You say that about everyone’s stuff.”

“It’s true though. Get the right writer with the right editor and who knows what magic can happen.” Shiro’s lips quirk up in a smile. “Besides, you’ll have two, come Monday--and I think you’ll be excited about this one.”

Keith looks up curiously. He’s worked for Shiro long enough to have learned his verbal tier system for introducing projects. “Have a look” means ‘Veronica and James are busy, so you’re stuck with this one’, “pretty good” means ‘at least it’s science fiction’ (and therefore Keith’s specialty), and “enjoy the project” means that if Keith does his job properly, the book _should_ end up in _some_ newspaper’s top 10 list for a week or so. He’s only heard “excited” once before, and that was the novel that got him promoted. “Excited” is big.

“What’s the project?” he asks. He puts the glass back on the table. 

Shiro reaches for his briefcase on the ground and pulls out a small stack of paper. Keith reaches for it but Shiro pulls it away from him.

“I wish this could have waited until Monday. I know you’re going to work yourself through the weekend. Try to take it easy, okay?” he says.

Keith snorts. “Can’t promise that.”

“Well...at least try. For me.” Shiro quirks his lip at him. “Anyway. Coran got this in the mail yesterday.”

“You mean--” 

“Yeah. Snail mail.”

“That’s kind of a waste of paper.”

Shiro grins. “Lance, your client, is quite the traditionalist.”

“Lance?” Keith repeats, brows furrowing. “Who’s Lance?”

Shiro doesn’t reply, but he’s trying _so hard_ not to smile, so Keith starts racking his memory for authors Shiro has worked with personally. Shiro pushes the manuscript across the table and he reads the name written across the front page and of course, oh my god--

“Lance _McClain_?” Keith says, loud enough for the table next to them to glance over. He ignores them and picks up the papers with fervor as Shiro finally gives in and starts laughing.

“I told you,” he said. 

Keith flips over the first page. “I didn’t even know he was writing a new book.” 

“Neither did I, and I’ve kept in touch with him. Looks like he’s taking a stab at sci-fi.” 

“Are you sure?” Keith asks. McClain’s first book had been so visceral and real and full of emotion that Keith figured he was one of those guys who would pour their whole soul into a novel and never write another one, let alone one that was a different genre. And Shiro has house-sat for Keith enough times to know that _Home_ is Keith’s favourite fucking book. Out of the hundreds he has crammed into his shelves, it occupies the honorary space on the coffee table more often than any other.

“It sure looks like it. Plus, I emailed him telling you’d take on the job and he replied with - and I quote - ‘aww, I’ll miss you. But I need the sci-fi guy, sounds great’. Wait--you will take on the job, right?”

Keith looks down at the manuscript in his hands, 24 pages in flawless 12 point Courier, just the first chapter. He’s already more excited for this than for the last six months’ material combined. “How could I say no?”

“That’s what I thought,” Shiro says, and finishes his drink. “Lance is...interesting. He won’t be discouraged by your blunt style, but don’t expect him not to fight back. He’s quite the character.” 

Keith nods, and takes another sip. “Why didn’t you give this to Allura?” 

Shiro gives him an incredulous look. “I couldn’t live with myself if I gave this to anyone but you.”

“Point taken,” Keith replies, and bends over to slide the manuscript carefully into his briefcase (and hide the colour spreading to his cheeks. He’ll blame the heat if Shiro asks). He stands, removes his suit jacket from the chair back and swings it over his shoulders. 

“Besides, Allura has her hands full with some new guy--Pidge Gunderson. His story looks _very_ promising, and after she’s through with it it’ll be a work of art. Um--where are you going?”

“Back to the office,” he says, sitting back down and flagging a waiter for their bill.

Shiro looks at his watch. “It’s past nine. Even Coran is probably gone already. Go home. Relax. You’ve had a tough week.” 

“There’s nothing to do at home. Besides, I want to get started on this.” 

“You are excited,” Shiro says with a laugh. “Well, I hate to be the bringer of bad news, but Lance wants the editing done in person. And he’s a big enough draw for me to let him get away with that.”

“Wow, no pressure,” Keith mutters. He’s always preferred internet correspondence. Better to know as little as possible about an author and let their writing do the talking. 

“You fly out on Monday,” Shiro says, and the waiter brings their check. Shiro digs in his suit jacket for his wallet and waves as Keith begins to protest.

“Fly where? Doesn’t he live in Brooklyn?”

“He does, but, well...he’s writing in Rio right now.”

_“Brazil?”_

Shiro shrugs. “He’s probably there for research, or at least the pretense of research. He sent me the address. I’ll pass it on to you this weekend.” He leaves a wad of bills on the table and stands, shrugging on his grey suit jacket. “Split a taxi?” 

“Yeah,” he replies, standing up himself. “And Shiro?” 

“Hmm?”

“Thank you.”

Shiro smiles then, and it’s the kind of smile that makes Keith’s heart swell with joy and makes him want to punch himself in the face all at once.

* * *

Keith reads the manuscript in the cab. The chapter opens in the middle of whatever is happening, giving very little away. It’s meant to be confusing, Keith thinks. Still, he manages to gather that the protagonist is a young alien who winds up on Earth and has no idea how she got there or how long she’s been there. The manuscript reads whimsically, a lot more lighthearted than _Home_ , but who knows. It’s only the first chapter, after all. Nevertheless, it’s a sweet and intriguing read, and Keith finds himself wanting more when he reaches the last page. He makes a frustrated noise and Shiro laughs at him.

He’s still thinking about the chapter a half hour later, after the cab ride, after he’s paid the driver and waved Shiro off, and still now while he fumbles for the keys to his apartment. He’s trying not to set his expectations too high, lest the guy be a one hit wonder like so many authors he’s read for before. And he _knows_ the new book won’t be as good as _Home_. You wouldn’t expect Salinger to have written anything as infamous as _Catcher in the Rye_ , or Rowling to write a cultural phenomenon bigger than _Harry Potter_. You can’t climb higher once you’ve reached the peak. 

After way more struggle than necessary, Keith finally manages to turn the key in the lock and step inside. Aslan is at his feet in an instant, weaving between Keith’s legs until Keith stoops to scratch him behind the ears. Keith drops his briefcase and strides directly to the cupboard in the kitchen for the cat food. 

His apartment is less of a mess than usual, what with his lack of projects. There are no dishes in the sink and no bread crumbs on the counter. His couch is clear, as well as the coffee table--save for the singular book in Keith’s unofficial place of honour; currently: Asimov’s _Nightfall_. The cork boards and world map he uses to sort plots are empty. He can actually see the surface of his desk, too. The only disorder is some spilt water from Aslan’s bowl. 

Once Aslan is happily munching away, Keith whips off his jacket and tie, and approaches his wall of bookshelves. 

There are six of them, and they contain more books than he can even remember having read (though he knows he’s gone through them all). They are always the most dust-free and organized part of his apartment, sorted alphabetically by last name. Every book he has ever edited for every client during his time at Voltron is somewhere on those shelves. 

Keith finds _Home_ , pulls it off the shelf, and strokes the spine--over the embossed title and _Lance McClain_ in gold, to the Voltron Co. logo, the silhouette of the roaring lion. 

He sets the book on the coffee table beside _Nightfall_.

A few minutes later, Keith manages to dig his dusty, mothball-smelling suitcase out of the back of his closet. There’s still sand inside from a job in New Mexico. He shakes it into the sink and begins laying out some folded shirts. 

As he counts them, he realizes he probably should have asked Shiro how long he’s staying in Rio. He can easily finalize edits with his other client from his laptop, but it would be nice to know how long he’d be gone. A week? A month? Until the novel is done? 

He pulls out his phone and sends a quick text to Shiro for Lance McClain’s email. Shiro, punctual as always, replies thirty seconds later. He also sends McClain’s address, Keith’s flight times, and his hotel arrangements for a total of two weeks.

# 

> From: kogane.k@voltronpublishing.co  
>  Date: June 26, 2015 at 22:36  
>  Subject: Arrival in Rio de Janeiro  
>  To: mcclance@gmail.com
> 
> Dear Mr. McClain, 
> 
> My name is Keith. I will be the editor of your new, yet untitled manuscript. I believe Mr. Takashi Shirogane has already made you aware of this, and the details of the full situation. 
> 
> I am told I will arrive in Rio on Monday afternoon. I will arrange for a taxi to meet me at the airport, however, I believe it to be prudent for us to be in contact beforehand. Do you have a phone number I can reach you at during your stay? Please let me know.
> 
> I am excited about your project. I have read over your first chapter and I believe it has the potential to be something spectacular. You are a very talented writer and I look forward to working with you.
> 
> Sincerely,  
>  Keith Kogane  
>  Senior Editor, Voltron Co. 

* * *

> From: mcclance@gmail.com  
>  Date: June 26, 2015 at 23:02  
>  Subject: Arrival in Rio de Janeiro  
>  To: kogane.k@voltronpublishing.co
> 
> Hi Keith, 
> 
> Thanks! Yeah, Shiro told me everything. Excited to work with you too. :)
> 
> I'm staying at a friend’s place here. Here’s his number, so just give it a ring when you land. Just ask for Lance. Also, It's hot as balls here. Bring t-shirts.
> 
> Safe flight! 
> 
> -Lance 

* * *

It’s certainly a less professional reply than he’s used to, but Keith is too tired to care. He checks to make sure his other client hasn't contacted him, updates his personal schedule, then shuts his laptop with a yawn. He quickly strips the rest of his work clothes, throws on a t-shirt, and is passed out in bed within ten minutes.

* * *

Keith has nothing to do. He normally finishes the bulk of his work on the weekend, so he now finds himself at a loss. He tries to watch TV (a flat screen he bought last year but has used less than five times), but his mind ends up wandering to Allura, an _executive_ editor, and Keith just starts fuming all over again.

He ends up shutting off the TV. Instead, he grabs _Home_ off the desk where he had left it the night before, and begins to read. 

_Home_ is about a freelance journalist--Shae--who, in the early 2010s, was a prisoner is in the tumultuous Middle East for over 15 years before she is finally rescued. She is excited and relieved at the prospect of seeing her beloved family once more, but when she gets home, she learns that a new house had been built on their old property, her father had taken his life years ago, and the remainder of her family is scattered across the States. The book is about the emotional process for Shae and each of her family members. Every character is a work in progress, but when Shae gets home and their healing can begin anew, you know they’ll be okay in the end. 

The book is heartbreaking and heartwarming all at once, and it shook Keith to his core the first time he read it. When he had flipped to the “about the author” section, and learned that it was his first book, he had almost dropped it in shock. How could a first-time author, in his early 20’s no less, write with such finesse?

Keith only looks up from his reading when he hears his stomach growl, to find out he lost track of time. He’s just gotten to one of his favourite parts, but the sun is low in the sky, Aslan is curled up in sleep on the couch, and Keith hasn’t eaten all day. He reluctantly drags himself to the kitchen and his stock of instant ramen packages. 

While he waits the prescribed three minutes of noodle-soaking time, he surveys his empty apartment, silent but for the sound of the refrigerator whirring. It’s kind of sad, sometimes.

Keith...doesn’t really have friends. Well, outside of Shiro, which is a little sad since--feelings aside--Shiro is also his boss. Coran occasionally joins them for drinks on Fridays after work too, but that’s the extent of Keith’s non-client social interaction. It’s always been the case so it doesn’t bother him too much, but occasionally, like now, he looks at the empty rooms and wonders what it would be like to have someone else there. 

(It would probably be just as bad as when he got stuck with a roommate after messing up his college housing application in first year, but he likes to think he's older and wiser now.)

* * *

> From: kogane.k@voltronpublishing.co  
>  Date: June 28, 2015 at 09:36  
>  Subject: Arrival in Rio de Janeiro  
>  To: mcclance@gmail.com
> 
> Dear Mr. McClain, 
> 
> Thanks for the advice regarding the t-shirts. 
> 
> I’ve attached my flight details to this email as a PDF. Barring flight delays, you can expect me at your specified location at approximately 1:30 pm, Rio time. We can get started on the work right away. Have you written any further?
> 
> Sincerely,  
>  Keith Kogane  
>  Senior Editor, Voltron Co. 

* * *

> From: mcclance@gmail.com  
>  Date: June 28, 2015 at 12:02  
>  Subject: Arrival in Rio de Janeiro  
>  To: kogane.k@voltronpublishing.co
> 
> Hey Keith, 
> 
> Good to know! I’ll expect you then. 
> 
> I have written more, up to the end of what I hope will be chapter five. Though--I’m in a bit of a pickle for the next part, and would like your input. You’re coming just in time.
> 
> See you tomorrow! 
> 
> -Lance 

* * *

Monday rolls around, and Keith is early for his flight, so he spends his time worrying. 

He worries about Aslan and whether he left him enough food in the morning, even though Shiro will pick him up in the evening. He worries about having packed enough clothes, and whether they would be weather-appropriate. He worries about having to navigate the airport terminal in Portuguese. He worries about getting lost.

And, truth be told, he mostly worries about Lance McClain getting fed up with him. Just like all his recent clients and all the rest of them, he worries about McClain requesting a new editor under the pretense of “a poor match”. Keith had considered emailing him about that concern over the weekend, but decided against the breach of professionalism. Anyhow, he worries about it in the luggage line, in the waiting area, and in the plane until his sleeping pill finally kicks in. He’s pretty sure he even worries about it in his dream. 

* * *

Upon landing, Keith is relieved to see English on the signs all over Galeão. He makes it to a taxi, hands the driver a Post-it with the address, and is on his way. 

Rio is...diverse, Keith decides, as he stares out the window at the scenery that flies by. It transitions from bright, sparkling ocean, to run-down homes with caving roofs and graffiti-covered walls, to a view of hundreds of apartment buildings that sit shoulder to shoulder like some kind of tropical New York City. It’s less than half an hour from the airport to the hotel, but he’s already seen more variety in scenery than the entire East Coast combined.

One of the perks of working for the biggest fiction publishing house in the world is this, Keith thinks, as they pull up in front of a massive glass-windowed hotel that wouldn’t look out of place in central Manhattan. He briefly wonders what kind of strings Coran had to pull to get him the place--the man has more connections than he has hairs in his moustache. Keith would have coped with a mattress on the ground in a hostel, but he’s not complaining. 

Keith pays the cab guy and steps outside for the first time since the airport, and the first thing that hits him is the _humidity_. The air is heavy and he can feel his collared shirt clinging to him the instant he takes a breath. He makes a beeline for the building, thinking of the bunch of t-shirts in his suitcase. He’s glad he took McClain’s advice.

The first thing Keith does when he enters the lobby is ask to use the phone. He dials the number McClain had given him. It picks up after the first ring. 

“Hello?” 

The voice is deep, friendly.

“Hi, this is Keith Kogane. The editor from Voltron. Is this Mr. McClain speaking?” 

“Oh! Hi. No, this is--uh, call me Hunk. I’m the one who lives here. Lance told me we’d be expecting you today. Want me to wake him up?”

Keith looks at the lobby clock. It’s 2:26 pm. 

“In that case, no, it’s alright. I’m just calling to let you now I’ve landed in Rio. I should be there in an hour or two, though if Mr. McClain would like me to arrive later--” 

“No, no, I’ll drag his lazy ass out of bed in a minute. Also, you can call him Lance. I mean, you should call him Lance. Doesn’t inflate his ego so big. Um. Don’t tell him I said that.”

“Okay,” he says, unsure of how to respond. “Tell Mr.-- Lance I’ll be there around four.”

“Will do. See ya then.” 

“Thanks for your time,” he finishes, suddenly feeling way too formal. 

* * *

His room is on one of the upper floors, with a balcony offering a view of Copacabana beach. He leans off the edge and lets the heavy wind whip his hair around. He suspects Coran specifically chose this room with Keith’s fondness for heights in mind. It’s nowhere near the same feeling as flying, but it’s more than he can ask. 

He doesn’t bother unpacking, just pulls out a t-shirt and shorts. He sees himself in the mirror just as he’s about to leave and the voice in his head just chants _unprofessional unprofessional unprofessional_ like a horrible mantra until he’s forced to change back into one of his collared shirts, humidity be damned. He rolls up the sleeves.

* * *

Keith shifts from foot to foot in front of the apartment door, taking a deep breath and shaking himself before knocking. Any outward appearance of nerves falls away, leaving in its place Keith’s carefully perfected mask of All Business. He knocks on the door. There’s shuffling behind it, as well as what sounds like muffled swearing. It opens moments later, and there’s a stocky guy in a Hawaiian shirt holding the doorknob. 

“Oh hey! You must be Keith,” the guy says, and Keith recognizes the voice from the phone call earlier.

He extends a hand. “Right. Hunk, was it? Nice to meet you.” 

Hunk ignores the hand and goes right in for a hug. “Glad ya made it safe. And welcome to my place! Lance is just inside,” Hunk says, squeezing Keith tight enough he can barely breathe.

“Uh. Yeah, lead the way,” Keith says a little breathlessly, when Hunk finally lets him go. 

Hunk leads Keith into the kitchen, where he sees Lance for the first time. Well--the back of his head at least. 

It’s a mess of short brown hair that looks like it just woke up. And judging by the fact that Lance is still in pyjamas, he just did. There’s a steaming cup of coffee beside him, and he’s hunched over a notebook. 

Hunk clears his throat, and Lance grunts in acknowledgement before turning around. When he sees Keith, his eyes widen. 

Keith steps forward. “Keith Kogane,” he says, offering his hand again. 

Lance stands up and takes it, invading his personal space a bit. looks him up and down slowly, and Keith can almost physically feel the scrutiny. He clears his throat. “Nice to meet you, Mr.--” 

“Lance,” says Lance, wry grin spreading across his face. His voice is sultry but loud, suggestiveness layered in that single word, and _unexpected_. “Call me Lance.” 

Keith already knows this is going to be a long, long two weeks.

**Author's Note:**

> So, forgive if there's errors in here, I don't have a beta and posted this on a complete whim. I more than likely will update slowly (school and all). Any feedback is appreciated, thanks so much for reading!
> 
> ...I should also mention I've never been to Rio and was only in New York for two days so. Fictional setting, pretty much.


End file.
